


I'm Not as Think as You Drunk I Am.

by Actual_Writing_Trashcan



Series: Colossus Hyperfixation Collection [14]
Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Hangover, That's it, Vomiting, You get drunk, alcohol consumption, and piotr takes care of you while you're hungover, because wade isn't about that, drink responsibly kids, fyi the author has never drank alcohol before, have mercy, huh, i guess not, i thought quicksilvers x-men verse name was peter, mother hen piotr, no underage drinking in this fic, please, reader is at least 21 for this fic, so i could be totally wrong about how this works, sober consent to drinking alcohol, that's the fic, the reader is a lightweight, then hungover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-07 00:37:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15897348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Actual_Writing_Trashcan/pseuds/Actual_Writing_Trashcan
Summary: Wade gets you stupid drunk during a New Year's celebration; Piotr finds out, gets pissed at Wade, and takes care of you the next morning while you're hungover.That's it. That's the fic.Drink responsibly, kids.(Set after "The Wrapping Paper Apocalypse.")[Title from P!ATD's "Don't Threaten Me With a Good Time."]





	I'm Not as Think as You Drunk I Am.

You’re minding your own business, just hanging out in the library while you innocently sketch in your drawing pad.

But, then, that’s usually how these things happen.

Wade bounds into the library, skips towards you, and hops over the couch before crouching behind you and putting his hand over your mouth. “Don’t scream. It’s just me.”

“I literally just saw you come in,” You mumble against his palm before pushing his hand away. “What’s up?”

Wade yanks on your arm until you climb over the back of the couch and crouch next to him. “Okay, so this is for your ears only, okay? Wolvie and I managed to hide some booze in the mansion for the New Year’s party tomorrow. There’s going to be a party in the basement after the fireworks go off. Anyone under twenty-one, Mr. Pole Up the Ass, and Colossus are absolutely not invited, capiche?”

You frown. “And you’re telling me this because...”

“Uh, because drinking alcohol is a great rite of passage in America. I’m Canadian, and I know that. You’re legal, right?”’

“Yeah.”

“Then you’re invited. Look, it’s better to drink with friends for the first time. We’ve all drank alcohol before --I can’t drunk anyway, so I’ll be able to keep an eye on you--and you’ll be at a safe place with literal doctors on staff if you get sick. It’s perfect!”

Hindsight will tell you that this is a bad idea. Horrible. Utterly stupid.

But, right now, you don’t have hindsight. All you have is foresight, and you’re foreseeing a lot of fun and new experiences in the future.

You grin. “Awesome.”

“And just what are you two doing?”

You and Wade both jump and stare guiltily up at your boyfriend.

He’s in his metal form right now, thick arms crossed over his burly chest. “Why are you hiding behind couch and whispering?”

“Hi, Pete!” You chirp with a sunny grin. “We’re booby-trapping Scott’s underwear drawer for New Year’s!”

“Don’t tell him!” Wade hisses, playing along with your deception.

Piotr simply shakes his head --but you can seem him repressing a smile. “Play nice, you two. No pranks tomorrow.”

“Aw, babe--”

“ _Nyet, myshka_. Not tomorrow. Tomorrow is celebration, not time for pranks.”

You pout, slump your shoulders, and hang your head. “Okay.”

“Hey! I didn’t agree to this!”

“Fine! Do it without me!”

Piotr chuckles and turns to leave. “Behave, you two.”

“I make no promises!”

You opt to blow a kiss at your boyfriend --and he blows one back, which makes your cheeks flush--then grin at Wade when he’s gone and hold up your fist. “How awesome was that?”

Wade returns your fist bump with an equally devious grin. “So awesome.”

 

* * *

 

“Five... four... three... two... one!”

People cheer, fireworks go off, and camera lights flash as the world officially rolls over into a New Year.

Piotr grins down at you, holding you to him with one hand and using the other to caress your face. “ _S noyvm godom, myshka_.”

You grin back. “Kiss me, darling.”

He does. Passionately, and longer than he would normally dare in other public displays of affection. When he pulls back, his cheeks are flushed and he looks immensely pleased. “A New Year.”

“A New Year,” you repeat. You grin, then lean up on your toes. “To all it may bring.”

“ _Da_.” He kisses you again, then breaks it with a sigh. “I am on teenager duty tonight, unfortunately.”

“I know.” You feign a yawn and give him a sheepish look. “I’m actually kind of tired...”

He pats your shoulder and kisses the top of your head. “Go rest,  _myshka_. One of us should.”

You press a kiss against his cheek, then head upstairs.  _Phase One: Complete_.

You and Wade had constructed a damn near fool proof plan to sneak you downstairs without your mother hen boyfriend noticing. Wade had paid Russell fifty dollars to light something outside on fire to create a diversion, and he’d text you once it was safe for you to come down.

Within two minutes of skulking around the hall, you hear the loud ‘ _fwoom_ ’ of one of Russell’s fireballs; mere seconds later, your phone chirps with a text from Wade.

**Bro: Silver ballz is outsies. Bring on da booze!!! Get ur ass down here. XD XP**

_You: Don’t ever call him ‘silver ballz’ again. That’s just gross. And I’m on my way_.

You creep back down the hall, listening for any signs of approaching residents. 

Fortunately, almost everyone’s outside, distracted by Russell’s explosion. 

You hop over the railing by the staircase and make an air current to float down to the floor. The backdoor’s open, and you can actually see Piotr outside in defense mode, trying to put out a burning rose bush.

“Psst! Come on! Stop ogling and get down here!” Wade hisses through the barely ajar basement door.

You dart over and slip down the stairs, an excited grin on your face.

Logan and Nathan are already down there, drinks in hand. Neena’s with them as well, along with Peter, Kurt, and Bobby.

“Rogue and Gambit should be joining us later,” Wade says as he joins you at the bottom of the stairs. “In the meantime, let’s get this party started!”

“For once, Wilson, you’ve had a good idea,” Logan growls as he takes a swig from his red solo cup. “Colossus’s kept us from having adult New Years for a while now.”

“Yeah, well, the world’s largest Silver Bullet ain’t got nothin’ on me!” Wade pulls out a bottle of vodka and a shot glass. “First shot of the night goes to Princess here, since it’s her first time.”

“Oh, everyone, you know what that means,” Neena says with a grin.

You frown as the others refill their cups. “What does it mean?”

“Everyone downs a drink once you take your first shot,” Bobby says as he blows on his cup to cool it down.

You blink, then eye your shot glass suspiciously. “That sounds... dubious.”

“Don’t worry, that’s just your inner Piotr talking.” Wade holds out the shot glass to you. “He’ll shut up after the second or third shot.” When you hesitate, his face softens. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

You eye the glass in his hand, then shrug. “Hashtag YOLO.” You pick up the glass, lift it to your lips, then tilt your head back and down the shot in a few swallows, just like you’ve seen in the movies.

Well, almost like you’ve seen in the movies. It takes a couple tries for you to swallow it all down, and you cough once the glass is empty. “Oh my gosh. That burns.”

Wade cheers and claps his hands. “Well done! Considerably less flailing than I was expecting. All right, everyone else, she’s done it; bottoms up!”

You watch, stunned as the other adults drain their cups --cups, not shot glasses--in long, easy swallows. Your mind already feels a little hazy, but you still can’t fathom drinking this stuff that easily.

Nathan finishes first with a growl. “Keep it coming, Wade. It’s been a hell of a year.”

 

* * *

 

A couple hours in and you’re feeling  _great_. The shots just get easier and easier to take the more you drink, and each shot you take has you feeling more and more relaxed.

Beer, however, tastes like piss; you have no idea how Nate and Logan stomach the stuff.

“It’s an acquired taste,” Nathan says with a crooked grin after he lets you trip a sip of his drink; his cheeks are flushed --apparently, he can drunk, just not as fast as you.

“An’ you keep callin’ Wade the s-su-stupid one.” You giggle and rock back in your chair, almost knocking it over. “You’re the one wi’ the stupid hair, ‘fter all.”

“My hair... is not stupid,” Nathan grumbles, pointing a finger at you.

“Maybe not, but Wade doesn’ have any, which jus’ leave you.”

“She’s got a point,” Logan says with a chuckle as he watches Domino destroy Bobby, Kurt, and Peter at beer pong. “The default answer is you.”

Nathan flips him off.

You laugh again, flopping around in your seat. You feel  _amazing_. Normally, there’s always an underlying current of stress and worry, but right now it’s gone. You feel completely relaxed, without a care in your mind.

Your ‘Piotr’ voice --it’s not gone, just really hard to hear right now--is saying something about it being fake and one of the addictive side effects of alcohol, but you’re too busy taking another shot to focus on the actual words.

“Okay, pumpkin!” Wade lifts the shot glass out of your hand. “That’s the cut off point for you. You’ve had seven, and I’m not trying to give you alcohol poisoning.”

You pout at him. “I was havin’ fun! The fuck?”

“You can have it back in a couple hours, once you’ve guzzled some water, peed, and eaten something. The bathroom’s right behind you. I suggest you go there, because pissing your pants isn’t as fun as it sounds. Believe me, I would know.”

You blink owlishly at him. “Huh?”

“Maybe you should cut her off for the night,” Logan suggests. “She’s clearly a lightweight.”

You can’t really process what they’re saying. You’re too busy rubbing your hands all over your face. “I can’t feel my face,” You sing. “She tol’ me... don’ worry... ‘bout it!” You slap yourself across the face --it takes a couple tries, but you manage--and gasp when no sting of pain follows. “Holy shit! I don’ feel pain anymore!”

Wade laughs hysterically as he holds your hands away from your face. “I wish I had a camera! This is fucking priceless! Y/N, you’re completely toasted!”

You open your mouth to say something, but there’s a loud banging noise that distracts you. You loll your head back and try to see what’s going on.

Piotr tromps down the stairs in his human mode, fists clenched at his side. His blue eyes are wide with fury, and his mouth his clenched shut. He stops at the bottom of the stairs and glares down the room. “What is going on?”

“Shit,” Wade mutters under his breath. He forces a grin and stands, partially hiding you from view. “Colossus! Buddy! Welcome to the party!”

“Enough. Where is Y/N?”

You gasp once your brain catches up with your eyes. “Oh! Piotr’s here!” You smile --because you’re genuinely happy to see him, even though you’re too drunk to think right now--when his gaze snaps to you. “Hi, baby! How’s it goin’?”

He relaxes, just a little. “You’re going to bed. Now.”

You nod, happy to along with whatever he says. “Okay.” You manage to get out of your chair, but start falling over as soon as you try to walk.

Piotr darts forward and catches you, clutching you against his chest to keep you from toppling over.

You nuzzle your face against his chest, marveling at how soft his shirt is. You can’t really hear what he’s saying to the others, but you can feel the resonance of his voice in his chest. It tickles your face, and you let out a soft giggle as you wrap your arms around his waist. “You’re all buzzy.”

Piotr sighs and pats your back. “Come on,  _lyublyu_. To bed with you.” He places his hands under your shoulders and tenses. “I’m going to carry you, okay?”

“Right.” You gasp when he lifts you --then groan when the room spins. “Oh shit. Everything’s sideways.”

Piotr tucks you against his chest and walks towards the stairs. “Close your eyes. Just let me take care of you.”

 

* * *

 

The trek to his room is mercifully short --though that might have to do with your passing out halfway through. Your eyes pop open when he sets you on his bed. “Huh? Where am I?”

“In bed.” He kisses your forehead. “Stay here. I’ll get you one of my shirts.”

You whine as he walks away. “No! Don’ leave me!”

“I’m just right here, at the closet. You can still see me.”

“But you’re so far ‘way!” You sob into the bed. “‘m all alone.”

“No, you’re not,” he says as he kneels in front of you. “I’m right here.”

You gasp. “You’re back! You were gone f’rever!”

He kisses your temple and wipes the tears off your cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’ll be faster next time.” He sits you up and starts peeling you out of your clothes.

“Bow chika wow wow,” You mumble as he strips you out of your jeans. You start singing the intro to ‘Careless Whisper,’ but give up about halfway through. “Pete?”

“ _Da_ ,  _dorogaya moya_?”

“I think ‘m drunk.”

 

* * *

 

Last night, you felt great.

This morning, you  _abso-fucking-lutely do_   _not_.

Your head feels like someone’s driving an ice pick into it. Your body aches, and your stomach feels like it’s about to commit mutiny.

And you’re tired. You feel like you got hit by an insomnia train.

Piotr’s hand rubs up and down your back in soothing circles. “How are you feeling,  _myshka_?”

You bury your face into your pillow to try and block out the light streaming through the windows. “Oh  _God_. I think I’m gonna die!”

His lips press against your shoulder. “You’re hungover. Wade said you had seven vodka shots last night.”

“I didn’t mean to! Holy shit, this  _sucks_! Why didn’t Wade tell me about  _this_? I’m gonna murder him!”

“Later,  _dorogoy_. Try to focus on getting rest for now.”

You would, but at that moment your stomach decides to launch its mutiny into motion. You lurch out of bed and bolt for the bathroom, diving for the toilet as the first round of stomach contractions start.

You’re not sure how long you spend vomiting into the porcelain bowl, but when you finally get a reprieve you realize Piotr’s sitting next to you, holding your hair back. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s natural reaction for hangover.”

“No --well, yeah, but not what I was talking about. I’m sorry that I went to the party behind your back, and I’m sorry I drank alcohol when I wasn’t supposed to. I’m sorry I broke the rules.”

He rubs your back with his free hand. “We’ll talk about it when you’re better --but you are very much forgiven.”

Once your body settles, he leaves your side to turn the shower on.

You grimace at the sound of the water pelting the shower floor. “That’s so loud! Turn it off!”

 “Sorry,  _dorogoy_ , but you’ll feel better after shower.” He helps you out of your pajamas --then strips down and joins you.

Normally, you’d be delighted by that, but right now you’re entirely consumed by how shitty you’re feeling. All you can really do is stand under the spray of the water and squeeze your eyes shut to try and block out the pain.

Fortunately, you don’t have to do more than that. Piotr’s in full ‘mother hen boyfriend’ mode right now, determined to help you survive your first ever hangover. He gently washes --and conditions--your hair and lathers your body in soap with such nurturing tenderness that you don’t even get turned on from having your boyfriend literally rub you from head to toe.

That, and you feel like shit. Actually, it might be more of the latter than the former.

Once you’re all rinsed, Piotr turns the water off and dries both of you off before helping you into a fresh set of pajamas. Then, in a gesture of ultimate chivalry, he carries you the ten foot distance back to the bed and tucks you in. “I’m going to make you some breakfast. Rest in meantime.”

You groan. “No. No food.”

“Your body needs food to help process alcohol out of system. Trust me,  _da_? I have been hungover before. I know what helps.”

You snort, which makes your headache worse, but you can’t help it. “You? Hungover? Likely story.”

“I had rebellious phase!” He sounds indignant. “I was not always like I am now.”

“Sure, babe.” You manage to find his hand and pat it. “What, did you jaywalk instead of using the crosswalks like a law-abiding citizen?”

He huffs and kisses your temple. “Very funny,  _myshka_. Get some rest while I make food.”

You’re out before he closes the door.

 

* * *

 

Nearly an hour later and he’s back, gently rousing you from sleep and helping you sit up.

“Breakfast in bed? What sort of alternate universe is this?” You grumble, feeling somewhat better after a nap.

“Special circumstance.” He sets up a tray table next to his bed, then sets a bottle of water and a couple ibuprofen pills on the table. “Take these and drink some water. I’ll be back in few minutes.”

Now that he’s mentioned it, you realize your mouth is bone dry. You take the pain pills and guzzle half the bottle, but your mouth wicks all the water away like one of those miracle drying rags Wade keeps buying off the infomercial channels.

Speaking of Wade, he’s walking into the room. “You okay?”

You glare at him as you gulp from the water bottle. “I’m gonna fucking murder you.”

“Figured. Look, I’m sorry I didn’t warn you about the hangover. I don’t get hungover anymore; I didn’t even think about it.” He sets an orange prescription bottle on the tray table. “But I brought a peace offering. Prescription painkillers. Best shit you can get.”

“Absolutely not.” Piotr storms into the room, sets the plate he’d been carrying for you on his desk, and yanks Wade away from you. “You’ve done enough damage already.”

“Piotr, calm down!” You exclaim, wincing at how loud your voice is. Quieter, you add, “He’s just trying to be nice.”

“By offering you stolen prescription.  _After_  getting you overly intoxicated.”

“They’re mine!” Wade insists as he flails in Piotr’s grip. “Legal and all that shit! I still have  _cancer_ , asshole. They prescribe painkillers to help with that.”

Piotr picks up the bottle, then sets Wade down after reading the label. “I am sorry. I should not have assumed. But you still got Y/N drunk -- _after_  you were told to not bring alcohol in for New Year’s. And you bribed Russell.”

“Look, babe, he wanted to introduce me to alcohol safely.”

“By breaking rules, causing damage, and lying.”

“By doing it in a safe place, with people who know me and know how alcohol effects the body, and where we had access to a doctor if things went super sideways. He didn’t take me to a bar, he didn’t force me to drink anything, and he cut me off before I got too out of control. I think he deserves some credit for that.”

Piotr mulls it over, then sighs. “Your intentions were... good, Wade. Even if your techniques were... misguided.”

“ _Thank you_.”

“You still have to answer for your actions. You broke many rules last night, and bribing Russell to cause damage to property is unacceptable. He or any number of others could have been seriously hurt.”

 “Yeah, yeah,  _I know_.” Wade waves his hand dismissively before plucking his bottle of painkillers out of your boyfriend’s hand. “I’m going now. Before you get too far into lecture mode.”

Piotr glares after him, then shakes his head and retrieves the plate from his desk. “Sorry about that,  _moya lyubov’_.”

“It’s okay.” You gratefully accept the plate --you’re hungry now, ravenous beyond belief.

The plate is loaded with all your favorites --including a small stack of golden, perfectly fluffy chocolate chip pancakes.

Piotr kisses the top of your head as you dig in. “I will be right back. Do you want more water?”

“Yes, please.”

He returns a few minutes later, water bottle tucked under his arm and two glasses in hand. One is filled with an orange liquid and almost looks appetizing; the other...

“Is that... pickle juice?” You grimace when you give the contents of the glass a precursory sniff. “Why? Haven’t I suffered enough?”

“Salt will help your body. Take  _sips_. Don’t try to drink it all at once.”

You take a sip --and it’s a disgustingly salty and sour--and eye the other glass with suspicion. “Do I even want to know what that is?”

Piotr holds it out to you. “It is Russian hangover cure. I think you will like this better.”

You sniff the contents --it smells decidedly better, just barely not like orange juice--and take a sip. “Oh! I like that!” You down the glass easily and set it on the table as you smack your lips. “Can I have more of that?”

“Maybe later, if you still need it. Try to keep eating.”

You manage, growing more subdued and sleepier as you fill your belly. Eventually, Piotr says you’ve eaten enough --and drank enough of the pickle juice, which is still gross--and lets you flop back down on the bed.

He pulls the blankets up around your shoulders and smooths your hair away from your face as you settle back in. “I will check on you later. Rest well,  _myshka_.”

 

* * *

 

You wake up several hours later, feeling considerably less fucked over. Your head no longer feels like it’s being scooped out by a melon baller, and your stomach is considerably less grumpy. You manage to get yourself upright and pad out of Piotr’s room on shaky legs.

The mansion is practically silent as you wander through the large halls. Most of the mutants visit their families during Christmas and New Year’s, meaning that there’s no one to run into while you search for your boyfriend.

Which is probably for the best. You can walk, but you definitely don’t feel human enough for conversation.

It takes a while, but you manage to track him down; he’s outside, in full on defense mode, watching Nathan, Neena, Logan, Kurt, Wade, Peter, and Bobby clean up the remains from Russell’s bush burning.

Scott’s also there, supervising, which briefly makes you hesitate; you ultimately decide that you want your boyfriend, so you jam your boots onto your feet and brave the cold and snow.

The sunlight hurts your head, and you tromp towards Piotr as quickly as you can.

He starts slightly when you wrap your arms around his waist --considerably harder than usual since he’s in defense mode--and turns around with a concerned frown on his face. “Y/N? You should be inside.”

“I wanted to come find you,” You mumble as you press your face into his coat to block out the piercing sunlight.

He makes sure Scott is good to go, then scoops you into his arms and carries you inside. Before you can think of anything to say, you’re back in his room and in bed again with the blankets tucked over your legs.

He hands you the water bottle as you prop yourself into a sitting position. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. My head still hurts, though.”

He kisses your forehead, almost like a parent kissing their child’s scraped knee. “Do you want some more painkillers?”

“Later. I saw that you had the guys and Neena doing due penance. Why didn’t you have me out there, too? I was part of last night.”

Piotr takes one of your hands in his and kisses your knuckles. “Scott and I talked it over with the Professor. We decided better ‘penance’ would be to have you take course on alcohol safety.”

You frown. “Scott agreed to that?”

“Eventually. Wade made very compelling case for you this morning. He said you had no experience with alcohol previously, and that you had no basis to know why New Year’s rule was in place to begin with.”

You make a mental note to thank Wade later.

“The Professor and I agreed --and Scott added the safety course, which is not that unreasonable, I think.”

“It’s not,” You admit. “But I might bitch about it anyway.”

“And I will be there to pat your hand and remind you that it is due consequence of your choices.”

“Like the wonderful boyfriend you are. Pampering me and keeping me grounded.” You smile softly. “I like to think you bring out the best in me, Pete.”

He smiles back and kisses you gently. “I like to think you bring out best in me, Y/N.”

Despite the pounding in your head and the knowledge that you’re going to have to take a pain the ass course eventually, you melt into the kiss.

There’s no place you’d rather be.


End file.
